Rules of the (Politeness) Game

While riding the metro home this afternoon, I was startled out of my texting haze when the train lingered longer than usual at the Anvers station, hundreds of meters below the majestic, self-cleaning Sacré-Coeur basilica (more on that later). I took the opportunity to count, perhaps for the seventh time, the number of stops left before arriving at my station, though I already knew it was only four. While riding most lines of the Paris métro, you can check email, answer the phone, and generally provoke your fellow commuters with the help of your cellphone. Side note: in German, a cellphone is called ein Handy. Handy, yes, when you want to aggravate those around you.

Before getting back to the business of chatting on gmail, I glanced at the yellow-toothed man sitting across from me, then watched as he offered his seat to a woman standing beside us. Seconds earlier, I remember thinking, ''she's an older woman. Someone should offer her a seat, but not me. It's hot in here and I'm tired.'' Fortunately, the man across from me was thinking something similar, and offered his seat to the older woman. She politely refused. As the train doors closed and the train lurched forward, he added, ''but you're tired, Madame. You're falling asleep on your feet.'' When she ignored him, he stood up, and continued his conversation with another stranger nearby. The two confirmed that she was indeed closing her eyes and should sit down. Meanwhile, two sassy teenagers swooped in and took the empty seat. ''That woman is not happy,'' they whispered to each other, smiling at me for confirmation. I smiled back, and could only guess from the older woman's body language that she resented this on-going assessment of her physical and emotional state.

Now that I'm in the comfort of my own apartment, I'm listening to France Musique, the classical music station that is part of the French public radio family. Note to budding Francophiles: listening to Radio France on a regular basis will, most assuredly, improve your French. I remember when I first moved here, my listening comprehension was limited at best. I rejoiced the day I recognized the words, ''pwahn eff air,'' which of course means, ''.fr'' (as opposed to ''doht cohm''), and is very useful when trying to join a typical French conversation. Anyway, I urge you to listen to the radio, though tonight's program is an interview with Leslie Caron, and includes brief interviews with her English-speaking acting partners. Right now I'm listening to an extract from Gigi. Someone should write a report about how a large slice of the French people adore American culture, especially Broadway, movies that came out before the late 70s (more contemporary Woody Allen films also make the cut) and the NYC scene en générale. And this despite their frequent criticism of America and her unhealthy tendancy towards excess!

We've all heard legends about the unmannerliness of Parisians, and watching commuters during rush hour here can provide good evidence to support this reputation. Our old friend, the yellow-toothed man, initially showed a dose of chivalry, but ultimately, his gesture tumbled into the Land of the Rude. And when it comes to rudeness, a friend of mine has sussed out the most effective response to the worst offenders: you know, the people who take up the whole doorway as they climb onto the train before you've gotten off, or those who push you without abandon just before the train doors close (squishing you into the forearm of a fellow passenger, or worse, a pole littered with hands gripping high and low). These brusque movements can only be forgiven if they are immediately followed by an, ''Excusez moi'' or ''Pardon.''

If not, when you encounter such indecency, you should immediately swing your body around, hopefully giving a good nudge to the guilty party as you do so. Then, as you look him or her in the eye, you say, ''Madame / Monsieur, vous êtes mal eduqué(e).'' Notice that you must start with a polite Madame or Monsieur to show that you, yourself, are ''bien eduqué(e).'' There is a strong emphasis on manners here, and to imply that a French man or woman does not have good manners, you insult that person to his or her core. For a final flourish, look the offender up and down once more, and then swing back around to your original position, eventually pulling out your trusty cellphone to check for any messages you might have missed during the brief altercation.

Oh yes, and now for that promised tidbit about the Sacré-Coeur: when you look at the photo above, you may be startled by the contrast of the glimmering grey-white façade with pockets of deep black smut. The reason is this: the stones, named Chateau-Landon after the city from which they come, are self-cleaning upon contact with rain water. Only the parts of the façade that are sheltered from the rain will turn black. Clever, clever Mother Nature.

If you would like more on the French public radio, visit www.radiofrance.fr (pwahn eff air, of course). The best way to visit the Sacré-Coeur is to approach it from behind. Take the metro to Lamarck-Caulaincourt or the 80 bus to Square Caulaincourt. From here, meander along Avenue Junot, swing through rue Norvins and rue Lepic, finally taking rue Cortot towards the basilica. One you reach the Sacré-Coeur, be prepared for throngs of tourists.